


How to woo your ex-enemy and fall in love: a guide by Doctor Doom and Iron Man

by laireshi



Category: Iron Man (Comic), Marvel 616
Genre: Angst, Falling In Love, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-22 17:19:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6088009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laireshi/pseuds/laireshi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doom was more similar to him than Tony liked to admit. Of course, then he also had to become <i>pretty</i>. Tony wasn't prepared to deal with any of this, and now he was doomed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to woo your ex-enemy and fall in love: a guide by Doctor Doom and Iron Man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Comicsohwhyohwhy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Comicsohwhyohwhy/gifts).
  * Translation into 中文 available: [How to woo your ex-enemy and fall in love: a guide by Doctor Doom and Iron Man [中文翻译]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7316608) by [zhishi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zhishi/pseuds/zhishi)



> You're a complete menace, you know <3 ?
> 
> [Comicsohwhyohwhy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/comicsohwhyohwhy/) also beta'ed this, thank you!
> 
> Doomtony, because just look at the new Iron Man. It ships itself.

Tony didn't exactly _hear_ anything, but he felt it, a subtle change in the air, a sudden presence behind him.

Friday sighed next to him. “Doctor Doom—”

“I know, Friday,” he said, setting down his screwdriver. “I'm working,” he said to Doom without turning in his direction.

Doom stepped closer to him. Close enough that if Tony just let himself lean back, they'd be touching.

The thought was unexpectedly tempting. 

Tony firmly told himself the disregard for personal space was a supervillain thing, nothing else, and it wasn't like it was _his_ fault that Doom had become irresistibly handsome. Damn, Tony should've gotten used to that by now. He clearly didn't.

“There is a simple solution to your problem,” Doom said. 

Tony groaned. He refused to look at Doom. “You will not use magic on my armour.”

“I wasn't about to suggest it, Stark,” Doom said. “I know perfectly well how you feel about magic.” There was a weird note in his voice, almost hurt. “What I meant was a simple _technological_ solution.”

Tony told himself firmly that he wasn't about to ask. The armour was _his_. 

He stared at the disassembled parts. The suit had glitched when morphing from a stealth version to the Hulkbuster one and very nearly cost Tony his life. If he'd been protecting anyone at the time . . . He didn't want to think about that. And okay, so apparently he _was_ going to ask Doom for advice on his armour. Go figure.

“Okay,” he said aloud. “I give. Show me.”

This time, Doom sounded pleased as he started explaining his idea. He clearly knew what he was talking about. Tony could admit he was impressed. He didn't start implementing the ideas immediately—he had to look through them, of course—but he made a few notes and nodded along.

Tony turned to Doom when it all started making sense, the equations flowing in his mind. He wasn't a jerk; even if Doom _was_ a villain, Tony could say thanks.

He blinked when his eyes fell on Doom, who was in his green suit, looking, of course, annoyingly pretty. Tony might've stared a bit.

“One last thing,” Doom said.

Tony frowned. “Forcing higher energy—”

Doom waved his hand, cutting Tony off. “Obviously.” He smiled. “You will come to dinner tonight. Dress nicely.”

Later on, Tony would swear he only muttered agreement out of shock.

***

“Stop fretting,” Friday told him as Tony tried on yet another suit. “It's not a date.”

Tony stilled with his hand on his tie.

Friday was glaring at him. “ _Is it_?”

“Remind me again why I programmed you this way,” Tony asked rhetorically. He settled on a dark blue tie. He'd considered green, but Doom would probably wear that. Also, Jan always said blue brought out his eyes.

Not that that mattered.

Not that Tony had put a lot of thought into it.

He looked in the mirror another time to make sure everything looked all right, when Friday coughed. “Doctor Doom is in your living room.”

“Thanks, Friday,” Tony said. His watch armour secure around his wrist, Tony made his way to the living room.

Doom stood next to the window, looking at New York. _Planning how to conquer it?_

“So that's what you meant by _I'd come_. You'll kidnap me,” Tony said.

Doom shook his head slightly. He had a black suit this time, making him look even taller and leaner.

Still way too handsome.

His tie was, of course, green. 

“I assure you, Stark, everything planned is dependent upon your consent.”

“I'm sure that's what you'd have said about our trip to Arthurian times,” Tony retorted. 

“It was fun.” Doom crossed his arms in front of him. “So?”

“I _did_ dress nicely,” Tony said, wondering what the hell he was doing. “That should be your answer.”

Doom smiled. It looked good on him. “Quite.”

Doom extended his hand to Tony, palm up. Tony reminded himself he had the watch, and he was still in his house, Friday would record where he was teleported to, and then he accepted. Doom's fingers were surprisingly warm.

He knew what to expect, but he still hated the sensation; everything disappearing from around him, everything but Doom's hand still securely holding his. It must've been less than a second, but Tony felt dizzy by the time the reality reappeared around them.

He looked around when his head stopped spinning. An high-end restaurant, currently empty.

Okay. So maybe Friday had a point. “Is this a date?” Tony asked.

He half-expected Doom to laugh him off. Instead, Doom indicated at their hands, still clasped together.

“I didn't think that needed saying, Stark,” Doom said mildly. 

Tony took a deep breath and nodded. He'd already let him help on the armour. What was a date compared to that?

And Doom was _very_ pretty now. A good conversationalist. Intelligent. Tony should stop listing all his good traits before he thought it a good idea to propose to him, probably. So he was attracted to Doom. That was normal, considering how pretty he was. It didn't mean Tony had to act on it.

That's why he accepted the invitation, clearly. That and Doom's irresistible charm.

Doom pulled out Tony's chair for him.

This was quickly taking a turn for the surreal. 

Tony sat all the same. There was still no staff in sight, let alone any other customers. He glared at Doom over the table. “If you threatened—”

“Relax, Stark. You're not the only one who can buy out a restaurant for the evening.” A beat. “I told you I'd reformed.” 

Tony took a deep breath and bit down on his instinctive response. It could be a nice evening. He could try not to antagonize Doom. He was having dinner with a— _reformed—_ villain. That happened. Except . . . “That's impossible.”

“And just because you can't deal with your deeds under the Skull's influence,” Doom continued.

Tony raised his hands. “Whoa! I though we were talking about you.”

“Were we?” Doom asked, not unkindly. 

Tony pressed his fingers into his temples. “Okay. Let's just order—oh, you've probably planned the menu, haven't you.”

“Doom is always prepared,” Doom said proudly. 

***

They were eating a great coconut soup when Doom started talking. “I'm glad you understand the value of good armour,” he said.

Tony smiled almost unwillingly. He did love his armour, that was true. “It's indispensable,” he said. “Although I have to admit, I always wondered why you mixed it with magic.”

“You also have to admit my armours were extraordinary,” Doom said.

Tony had gotten to reverse engineer one or two—and okay, some solutions he wouldn't have thought of. Some he wouldn't have understood without Strange's help. He nodded now. “The magic parts, yeah. The tech was good though, I'll give you that.” He ate another spoon. Truly delicious.

“Reed never appreciated it.”

Tony snorted. “Reed doesn't appreciate many fine things,” he said, “but he is a genius inventor.” Much as he liked Reed, their interests of research rarely overlapped. It made their discussions all the more interesting, but now Tony was discovering how much fun it was to talk to someone who liked what Tony did _and_ knew a thing or two about it.

“Luckily, I do appreciate fine things in life,” Doom said, looking right at Tony.

“And so do I,” Tony returned after a moment of charged silence. 

Doom smiled then, and Tony felt himself smiling back.

They finished their soups, and continued a lively discussion about the technical intricacies of using a suit of armour without harming the pilot.

Turned out, talking to Doom really was more than enjoyable.

At some point, the waiter took away all their plates, leaving just the water glasses. Tony was glad there wasn't even a drop of alcohol involved. 

“There's also dessert,” Doom said.

Doom's tie had gotten looser during dinner. Tony stared at his neck. “Dessert,” he asked, “or _dessert_?”

“Patience is a virtue, Stark,” Doom replied. 

Patience was overrated, but Tony _was_ curious.

The dessert turned out to be a simple mix of strawberries with mascarpone.

And one spoon.

Tony raised his eyebrows. Doom's look was challenging. 

“I'm surprised it's not whipped cream,” Tony said.

Doom tilted his head. “We can get around to it later.” He licked his lips.

Tony swallowed.

He knew all the moves. He _was_ good at seduction. The thing was, he rarely had the roles reversed; it was usually him seducing others. This was . . . new, in a way.

And Doom was beautiful, even if he wasn't quite Tony's type—blue-eyed and blond, and shut up, Stark, _that_ won't go anywhere—and he was dangerous, and that possibly shouldn't be turning Tony on—

Tony had fun the whole evening, and Doom's very obvious plan to seduce Iron Man was bloody well _working_ , and Tony couldn't bring himself to care. If he were honest with himself, he'd admit that he didn't really expect this evening to end any other way—and he was waiting for it.

Doom gathered a spoonful of mascarpone and strawberry and extended the spoon slowly towards Tony.

Tony caught his gaze as he leant in and opened his mouth.

Doom's pupils were wide. _Good_.

Tony wanted this, too.

***

Teleporting for the second time wasn't any less irritating than the first—except this time, somehow between Tony holding Doom's hand in the restaurant and appearing somewhere else, Doom pulled him into a tight embrace, and was doing sinful things to Tony's neck with his lips.

Tony felt light-headed. He tried to take a steadying breath and just moaned instead. Doom chuckled. 

“Doom—”

“Victor,” Doom said, and pushed Tony back.

Tony landed on a bed.

His own. Well. Okay then. Doom probably wouldn't snap his neck, right? Friday was a voice command away.

And it wasn't that important, because . . . “Are you stopping _now_?” Tony demanded, raising himself on his elbows.

“Ah, Anthony, all you had to do was ask,” Doom said, and climbed on top of him.

He was as good at kissing as he was at building suits of armour, and that was to say: _very._

_***_

Tony languished in bed, and Doom got dressed with a snap of his fingers. He looked impeccable again, as if Tony hadn't wrinkled his tie when he grabbed it to pull him on top of himself, as if he hadn't pushed his shirt down his arms—

“So,” Tony said, suddenly afraid Doom would disappear just as fast, without a word. “How about Friday evening?”

“Doom shall see,” Doom said. 

***

Five minutes after Doom had disappeared, Tony's phone beeped. 

_I'll come at 8 PM,_ the message read.

So now he knew Tony would take his calls.

And reply to texts, apparently. Because Tony did just that.

_Looking forward to it,_

_Victor._

Tony sat down. He was doomed.

Literally.

***

“This is a _second_ date,” Friday said. 

“Thank you for bringing that to my attention, Friday. I thought we were past three already.”

“You didn't wait anyway,” Friday said, and frowned. “Does that fall under my _alert Avengers when Tony starts acting like he's mind-controlled_ protocol?”

“That would make things easier,” Tony said into his hands. 

Somewhere along the line, after he'd saved Whitney, after he'd helped Amara—Tony had started trusting Victor.

And now he was pretty sure he liked him.

He was also pretty sure a good Avenger would _not_ do that. Good thing he'd always been a shitty one. Steve agreed, at least. 

Anyway, it was just some fun. Friends—or ex-enemies—with benefits . . . and romantic dinners. Tony could do that. 

“I know what I'm doing, Friday,” he said aloud. 

“I have to remind you that it's one of the phrases that _will_ trigger one of my protocols,” Friday said. “For what it's worth, I don't think Doom's going to kill you. Yet.”

“Thank you, Friday, that was reassuring.”

He was looking forward to spending the evening (and okay, the night, he _was_ skilled) with Doom. Thinking about how illogical it was could wait.

There were candles on the table in his dining room, and the food should've been on the way. He wasn't looking forward to teleporting anywhere again, and they probably would just end up back in his flat anyway; he might as well offer the dinner there.

***

Doom arrived on time. 

“I appreciate the candles,” he said in his deep velvety voice.

It was possible Tony was rapidly turning into a romance heroine. 

“So, dinner?” Tony asked.

Victor looked at him for a few long seconds, his gaze heavy. Tony felt it almost as if he was touching him. Then he slowly, _too_ slowly, crossed the room to Tony and kissed him. His hands were on Tony's shoulders, pushing his suit jacket off even as he kept kissing him, hot and insistent. Tony wasn't sure how this happened, but he was opening Victor's tie, sliding his hands under his shirt. His own shirt had disappeared _somewhere_ already.

“I was told,” Tony gasped out, “that patience is a virtue.”

“Nonsense,” Victor said, and kissed him again.

That was a very good argument. Food could wait, anyway.

***

They got to eating dinner, eventually, Tony in his pyjama bottoms and Victor in a silky green robe he got from . . . somewhere. Tony decided not to comment on magic.

He set out the dishes, and then went to the fridge to get the white wine he'd ordered for Victor.

The smell hit him as he opened the bottle at the table, and he tried not to wince as he poured it into Victor's glass—mixing two very dangerous temptations, bloody fantastic idea, Stark—and then Victor grabbed him by his wrist, hard.

“What do you think you're doing?”

“Pouring you your drink like the generous host I am?” Tony asked. He tried to pull his hand away, but Victor's grip was like a vice.

“Do you think Doom would drink alcohol with you?” Victor asked.

Tony didn't understand. The wine was for him. It was normal. Tony drank water or sparkling cider, and whoever he was with drank alcohol. Sometimes they brushed their teeth before kissing him. Sometimes not. 

“You drink,” Tony stated. _Everyone_ did, unless they were fucked up like he was and couldn't handle a bit of alcohol until _a bit_ became _too much_.

“You are an idiot,” Victor said. He took the bottle from Tony, finally let his hand go. Tony rubbed his wrist and watched as the bottle burnt in green fire.

Victor's eyes snapped to his wrist. “Doom did not wish to harm you,” he said. 

Tony wondered if he hadn't gotten drunk somehow, really, because this was more surreal than sleeping with him had been.

“Thank you,” he offered, stupidly, and his hand still hurt and the wine was gone, and he had no idea what was going on, and Victor might've had a point, Tony was an idiot.

Because most of all, he felt a weird kind of _warmth_ inside, happy that Victor didn't want to drink alcohol next to him.

Victor touched his wrist again, gently this time, almost apologetic, and then pressed a light kiss to Tony's hand.

Tony didn't know what to do.

“Do you still wish to eat?” Victor asked minutes later, infinitely patient, and Tony nodded. 

The dinner was nice. At some point, Victor extended his hand, and Tony, almost without thinking, took it, and they continued to talk and sip their non-alcoholic drinks, and Tony wasn't thinking of how he was holding hands with a (former) supervillain, and how he enjoyed it.

***

Tony lay with his head on Victor's chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. There were no scars on his body, and even his fingers were delicate, like he'd never spent hours in a lab, working on a suit of armour, bending metal just the way he wanted it.

He seemed almost delicate, while he most certainly wasn't.

Victor ran his fingers down Tony's arm, gently. “I saw the news,” he said.

Tony snorted. “Sure. Tuned in just to watch the 7 o'clock summary.”

Victor shrugged, jolting Tony. Tony poked him in the ribs for that. “Learning about what you're doing isn't exactly hard,” he said. “So, a new foundation?”

Tony closed his eyes. “You know why,” he said. For the victims of his latest Extremis experiments. Even the court of law didn't hold him guilty, but Tony _was_.

“I don't, actually,” Victor said. He sounded contemplative. “You'll pay for everything, but—” 

“But it won't make up for anything I've done and _I know it_ ,” Tony snapped.

Victor hummed. “You believe that.”

“If you disagreed, there'd be ten foundations to the name of Doom, helping _your_ victims,” Tony said. Victor tensed, and Tony regretted being so harsh, but then he relaxed again.

“You don't know there aren't any.”

“I know. You wouldn't stop yourself from using your name.”

Victor chuckled. “True.” He hesitated. “I believe in more hands-on approach, as it were.”

“Stopping demonic possessions,” Tony said.

“For example.”

A part of Tony was glad they couldn't see each other's faces in this position. “You can't change the past—” He thought better of it. “Don't answer that. You can. You won't.”

“It was never about _changing_ the past,” Victor said. “Not years ago, with Camelot. Not now.”

“You say you want to atone,” Tony murmured. He moved closer still to Victor. Talking about it was hard—but it didn't mean he didn't want to be here with Victor. That he didn't, in a way he couldn't quite explain and that surprised him even as he realised it, believe him. In him.

“Yeah. I'd think creating better future is all _you're_ about, but then you just never let go of the guilt. I don't want that.” Victor was silent for a moment, before continuing. “Take Amara. You're against human testing, but it could save thousands of lives.”

“And kill the subjects,” Tony interjected. He had learnt his lesson about that.

“So you think I'll never be a good person,” Victor said quizzically. 

Tony froze. He—

“No,” he said. “I don't think that.”

“Hmm,” Victor said, and then he pulled Tony up and kissed him.

_***_

It kept happening.

They kissed, they breathed each other's names, they touched their bodies and moaned and wound around each other, always in Tony's bed, and then Victor would get up and get dressed and Tony would be alone, and telling himself he didn't miss him, except he fucking did.

 _You don't have to go_ , Tony wanted to say after, every time, and never did.

Because Victor had to go, of course, and Tony had no business telling him otherwise.

_***_

The Avengers alert came as a surprise. Tony was getting ready for another date—and God, he might just call it what it was: he was in some kind of a relationship with Victor von Doom—when his Avengers card beeped loudly.

He sighed and called the suit to him. 

“Let's make this quick, Friday,” he said.

“Don't worry, I'm sure Doom will understand. Supervillains are responsible for superheroes' lousy dating habits, after all.”

His AI was a menace, Tony thought, shutting down his initial response of _He's not a villain anymore_.

He flew out. The call came from the harbour. 

“I'm on my way,” he said on the comms.

“Okay,” Sam replied. “It's the Wrecking Crew—did you know they were still active?”

“Like pests, will never go away,” Tony commented. But that was good news, he wanted to get it done fast, and they shouldn't be much of a challenge.

He arrived at the location before the other Avengers. A crate came flying past him, straight into the water. He didn't see who threw it. “Friday?”

“Nova's on his way, Cap should be here soon,” she said. “Thunderball on the right, Tony!”

He turned, just to see Thunderball swinging his ball at the group of kids huddling together near a car.

Tony fired at him, not with his full strength—he couldn't risk it with the kids nearby—but enough to slow him down for a moment.

“Kids, run!” Tony ordered, standing in front of them.

They scrambled away. Tony hoped the rest of the Avengers would be here soon; they had to make sure civilians stayed unharmed, and possibly avoid drowning more of the cargo stored here.

Tony hoped Doom wouldn't mind their date being cancelled. His HUDs flashed red alerts at him, and Friday was yelling in his ear—

The Thunderball's ball hit him in the side. He winced at the loud sound, and then turned as the Thunderball called it back. Tony jumped the distance to him, and punched him in the jaw before he could react; Steve's training was useful even when he had the armour on.

“What?” he asked. “I don't wear that just because it's pretty.”

(But it was very pretty and he was glad Victor agreed with him.)

“Stop showing off, there's—”

Friday kept talking, but Tony didn't understand the words. He bowed in half, pain clouding his eyes for a second. He'd been distracted, he should've known better than that—and now he thought that his ribs werecracked; he couldn't quite get back up. He looked to the left and saw the Wrecker, playing with his crowbar. _Damn him_.

“Tony?” Sam's voice. 

“Fine,” Tony gasped out. “Evacuate the civilians.”

“Fine my ass,” Sam snapped. “The kids are taking care of the civilians.”

Tony saw the shield hit the Piledriver, bringing him down. He grit his teeth, extended his hand and fired at the Bulldozer, full power on.

That left . . . “Behind you!” he called, and Sam turned around and caught his shield in time to cover himself from the Wrecker's attack. Tony kept firing at the Wrecker as Sam pushed him his way with the shield, and together they brought him down fairly quickly.

God, Tony's ribs _hurt_. 

He forced himself to get up. The armour could hold him up for the time being. Sam looked fine. Tony looked around for the rest of the team. Kamala embiggened again, and was carrying kids away. Nova held two people under his arms, flying away with them. 

Good. 

“Seems contained,” Tony said. “Sam, I hope you'll handle the clean-up.”

“Iron Man?”

“He did dent my armour, much as I hate to admit it,” Tony said, and he hoped the voice filters hid how weak his voice sounded.

Sam nodded after a moment. “I'll call you later,” he said.

“Sure.”

Tony flew back home, letting Friday steer the armour. 

***

Back in his workshop, he opened the armour and all but fell out of it.

Someone caught him. Someone tall, and strong, someone whose arms and chest Tony was intimately familiar with. 

“Victor?” he gasped out.

“I believe I mentioned it already,” Victor said. “You're an idiot.”

“I'm a genius, thank you very much.” If only talking _didn't hurt so much_.

“You should've called me, not _disappeared without a word on our date night_ ,” Victor said.

“Ah. Yeah. Sorry about that,” Tony said, wincing. “Avengers business.”

“I can see that,” Victor looked at him. “Although I have to admit, I expected better from you, Anthony. Your AI told me you were fighting the Wrecking Crew.”

“. . . I was distracted,” Tony said. Victor was still holding him up, and it was nice, but it didn't mean Tony's chest magically stopped hurting, and he still had troubles breathing.

“Distracted, huh,” Victor said. “Are you in pain?”

“Do I look like I'm not?”

“Doom is not a healer,” Victor muttered. “You'd be better off with Stephen Strange.”

“I don't think I'm his type.” Tony rolled his eyes..

Then he gasped, as the pain suddenly _did_ miraculously disappear, and there was a pull in his bones and—“Whoa,” he said. “That's—” He stopped. There was magic _in him_ , fixing _his body_ , near _the RT_ , and—it was almost too much, he wasn't sure he wanted it.

“Nice?” Victor supplied.

Tony shook his head, mutely. He took in a breath to calm himself down—a full breath. It didn't hurt. 

So maybe there was something to be said about magic, but the moment of terror wasn't quite gone.

“Don't do that again,” Tony asked. “Not—not as a surprise,” he said, his hand over his RT. 

Victor touched his face, gently. He sounded worried. “But you're all right now.”

Tony nodded. “And I'm grateful. But warn me first. I don't have a good track record with magic.”

“I'm sorry,” Doom said. “I wanted to help.”

And he did. It was Tony, freaking out.

“Obviously,” Tony said, and kissed him.

***

Victor held him close that night, running his hands over non-existent bruises, kissing him gently.

“It's in my job description, Victor,” Tony said finally. “You should know. You put Avengers in hospital often enough.”

Victor tensed. “I did.” A beat. “And I told you I was trying to atone for it. Do you still not believe me?”

Tony sighed. “I do,” he said. He might've even been honest. “I just—didn't expect this. Any of this.”

Victor raised himself on his elbow, looked down on Tony with a serious face. “I shall not ask about what _this_ is.”

Tony closed his eyes. “Thank you.”

“Next time,” Victor said, slowly, “call me. I can help, you know. I won't use magic on you without asking first.”

His hand was resting on the RT, lightly, and Tony wasn't afraid at all.

“Come here,” he said, and kissed Victor again and again.

Tony must've fallen asleep, finally, and when the morning sun woke him up, Victor was still there, sleeping, still holding Tony in his arms.

Tony didn't want to move.

He must've drifted back to sleep, because at some point a phone call jolted him out of what had seemed like a pleasant dream.

He didn't even look at the caller's ID, just grabbed his mobile so it stopped blaring the signal so loudly. “Yes?” He rubbed his eyes, trying to get more awake.

Victor lay with his head on Tony's stomach. Tony smiled to himself and played with his hair, brown and surprisingly soft.

“I told you I'd call.” Sam's voice. Ah. So he did; Tony just hadn't expected him to follow up.

“I'm fine,” Tony said.

“Tony, I know your suit is tough, but I also know what these weapons can do, and you didn't look fine yesterday.” Sam sighed. “Steve always complained you downplayed your injuries all the time.”

“Well, isn't it nice Steve doesn't talk to either of us these days,” Tony snapped and immediately felt guilty. Damn, he didn't mean to . . . “Sorry,” he said. “But I _am_ fine, I'm not lying, and you woke me up.”

“Did you get a medical check out?” Sam actually sounded worried.

It'd been a long of time since Tony was on a real team, where people really cared for him. It was surprising every time.

“Kinda,” Tony said. “I promise, I'm perfectly okay.”

A beat of silence. “Is something going on, Tony?”

“What?” Tony asked. “No. You're getting paranoid. That might be a Cap thing. Look, I really want to get back to bed. I'll be there if the Avengers need me.” He hanged up and closed his eyes. It was nice that Sam cared enough to ask, but . . . 

“You couldn't tell him you have a pretty sorcerer in your bed who healed you for a pretty smile?” Victor drawled.

Tony shuddered. “He'd think of Strange.”

“Ah.” Victor nodded. “We couldn't have that, could we.”

They fell silent. Tony thought he was happy—but he couldn't avoid questions forever.

Victor looked up at him. “Stop thinking,” he said. “Listen to me as your doctor and get some more sleep. You need that.”

Victor von Doom, _a doctor_. Strange would love to hear that.

He had a point though, Tony _was_ tired. Nightmares woke him up all too often, but—Tony looked at Victor sharply. “I actually slept,” he said. “Was that also a spell?”

Victor shrugged. “My stellar company?” he offered.

Tony huffed, but his eyes were already closing. He snuggled closer to Victor.

He _wasn't_ wrong. Tony's schedule didn't allow for much sleep anyway. He could take one day off, right.

He slept.

_***_

When Tony woke up this time, it was early afternoon. He was alone. He sighed, stretched his arms. He wasn't tired anymore. That was good. Another thing to thank Victor for. 

He stretched, walking to the kitchen, when something caught his attention. There was a message at his night table—but not written on a piece of paper. Not even texted to Tony's mobile, no.

Instead, the letters seemed to burn in the air, in Victor's handwriting. _Show off_ , Tony thought.

_I didn't want to wake you, Tony. Amara called with some problem and I promised to take a look. Don't armour up; you know I can be the perfect gentleman._

_Victor_

Tony stared at the message. 

He trusted Victor with himself, that much was obvious, even if he still felt a shade of surprise at realising that every time. Did he trust him near Amara though? That was a whole different matter. And whatever else didn't work out, they _were_ friends. He liked her. He knew she could handle herself, but . . . Victor. Well.

Even as he was thinking it, he knew he was going to get dressed and get to wherever they were. He had to. Which, actually. “Friday?”

“Up so early?”

“Hey, I was injured, I deserved some rest,” he said. “Can you get a location on Victor?”

“You know he—” she cut herself off, looking surprised. “Yeah. He's at that diner you like.”

So he _let_ Tony track him. When did that happen? And what did it _mean_?

And why was Tony so surprised? He let Victor _heal_ him, for fuck's sake.

And he really thought of him as Victor, not Doom. Tony guessed he just . . . didn't quite expect it could've been mutual, not really.

Maybe he should stay at home—but who was he kidding. He'd go. He wasn't actually worried anymore after realising Victor trusted Tony enough to let him track him, but if nothing else, he'd see his—see Victor and a good friend.

The armour _was_ the fastest way of getting there, but he supposed he could take his car instead and make Victor happy.

He pulled on the first clothes he could find and got out.

Sometimes he forgot how much fun just driving could be. The Resilient car ran fast, smooth, quickly reacting to his moves almost as well as his armour did. The public seemed to agree with him, judging by the sales rates. 

He arrived at the diner in a couple of minutes, parked close to the entrance and went in. He immediately spotted Amara and Victor sitting in the corner. Victor, well, Tony could say he was shielding her, in case something happened—Tony usually did that. Or he could be cutting her way out, a little voice whispered. 

_If you really think you trust him, fucking start acting like it, Stark_ , he told himself.

“Morning, Victor, Amara.”

Amara smiled at him. Then her eyes widened a bit. “ _Morning_ ,” she said. “It's four PM.” She tilted her head. “And you have Victor's clothes.”

Tony looked at what he was wearing and noticed a green vest. He sighed. “Apparently.”

She smiled. “It's fine, Tony. It was obvious there was something between you.”

Tony stared at her incredulously. Now, yes, he wasn't going to deny that, but the last time they'd all met like that? That had been long before Tony and Victor's first dinner.

She shook her head, apparently taking his silence the wrong way. “Okay, let's not discuss that now. Victor said you were recuperating and that's why you couldn't come.” She frowned. “What happened?”

“Nothing. And I'm fine. He saw to that.”

Victor looked up at Tony. “I also told you not to armour up, _dear_.”

Tony put his hands on Victor's arms, gently. “I took a car, _darling,_ ” and he said it very sweetly, but he couldn't deny he _liked_ hearing the endearment in Victor's voice, he wasn't just teasing him now.

“Ah, the sacrifice,” Victor drawled. “Thank you, I suppose.” He passed Tony his cup of coffee, and Tony accepted it gratefully. This diner _was_ awesome, the coffee was amazing.

Tony felt a bit better with caffeine in his veins, and he slipped into the seat behind Victor, their knees still touching. Amara looked amused, but this wasn't a social call, so Tony grew serious. “Really though, Amara, what's the matter?”

Amara bit on her lower lip. “That work I told you about?” She glanced at Victor. “That I'm _not_ going to test on humans, by the way?”

Tony closed his eyes briefly. “Please tell me no one stole it.”

She shook her head immediately. “No, nothing like that—but I've gotten some threats. I don't think they know what exactly I'm working on, just that it could be dangerous—which, you have to agree, Tony, is the better option here.”

“Someone's threatening you, Amara, there's no _good option_ here.” He was reminded of Maya, genius just like Amara, ruthless exactly the way Amara wasn't. He couldn’t' forget what happened to her. “You could move in to the Tower—”

She raised her hands. “No,” she said. “I just—I need to know who it is. This research is too important. And I won't hide.”

“She has a point,” Victor said. “You can't close people in your glass tower for their own good, Tony. But isn't _neutralizing threats_ what you do?”

Tony didn't like that tone. “Saving people, yes, and I really don't want it to be too late for Amara!”

“Tony.” Amara's voice was quiet and insistent. “I won't give details of my work to anyone. But knowing what exactly they're looking for might help me, don't you think?”

She was right, of course. Tony and she were seen together; assumptions could have been made. No one had ever believed _he_ was out of the weaponry business—and rightly so, after the incursions, after Extremis—so seeing a genius scientist with him . . . ? Of course someone had thought Amara was plotting similar stuff. Maybe that they were working together.

There was a hand on his knee, a gentle, grounding touch. “It's not your fault, Tony,” Victor said quietly, and Tony wanted to laugh. 

He had to fix it.

“Let's just go discuss it somewhere else,” Tony said. “For my peace of mind, if nothing else?”

Amara sighed. “Sure, Tony.”

They got up. Tony made sure to walk right next to Amara. He'd never forgive himself if something happened. 

They were almost at his car, when someone yelled, “Stop!”

Tony pushed Amara inside the car before turning back; his windows were bulletproof. Two masked men were behind them with guns trained on Tony and Victor.

“The armour will be here—”

“Don't be an idiot,” Victor drawled, and raised his hands. The air around him was suddenly dark violet, and he just twisted his right hand, once.

Tony could almost _feel_ the power, and suddenly realised the same man had healed his broken ribs and had held him in his arms the last night.

The gunmen were gone. There was a bit of blood on the street in the places they'd stood, the only proof anyone had even been there.

Doom had killed two men, just like that? But—wasn't he going to stop, redeem himself? Why did he . . . ?

Tony turned to Victor, his heart beating wild. “What the fuck, Doom?”

“He was threatening—” Victor cut himself off, tilted his head to get a better look at Tony. “Ah. I see. So that's what you think.”

“I—”

“Don't bother. Doom can see when . . .” He trailed off. Tony reached out towards him, but by the time his hand touched the place Victor had been in, not quite knowing what he was going to do, Victor had already disappeared.

Tony leant against his car and breathed heavily.

***

Amara opened the door some time—seconds, minutes?—later.

“At least get inside?”

Tony obeyed, climbed in the driver's seat. He wasn't sure he'd be able to drive, but that's what he had Friday for.

He felt Amara's hand on his arm. Shouldn't he be reassuring her instead?

“For what it's worth, I really doubt anyone will bother you after _that_ ,” he said quietly.

“I didn't want . . .”

“I know,” Tony said. “I know. And I didn't foresee—”

“Tony,” she said, gently. “He was trying to protect you. You got involved with Doctor Doom. What did you expect? He cares.”

“Are you really explaining his actions to me?” Tony asked, slightly hysterically.

What did he expect? _Victor_. Victor, who kissed him so gently, who didn't drink next to him, who held him at night. Whom Tony thought he knew. How foolish he had been.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered. He turned to look at her. Her eyes were glistening with tears, and here she was, trying to help him. 

“I know you didn't see that coming,” she said, when she noticed her looking. “And that's probably the only reason I'm not running away screaming right now. Well, that and I really believe he wouldn't have harmed us. But . . . This cure? It was supposed to _help_ people. Not lead to more deaths.”

Tony looked at his hands. “Doesn't it always go like this?” he asked quietly. Maya's Extremis . . .

“Not in my experience,” Amara said. “And I refuse to change that. Tony. Take me home.”

“Are you sure—”

“I'll be fine. You were right. That was public. _Oh my god._ ” She took a few steadying breathes. “Oh my god,” she repeated. “Tony, I need to go home.”

He bit on his lips. “Can I leave Friday with you?” he asked.

“What?”

“Friday, my AI. I'll give you a phone—I promise she'll only show up if you call her.”

“I—okay.” Amara still sounded shaken, but Tony knew better than to hope he could change that.

“Friday? Take us to Amara's place,” he said.

“Technically speaking, I think it's illegal for me to drive,” Friday's voice came from the speakers. “Hi, Amara.”

“Hey,” Amara said weakly.

The car started moving.

Tony stared at his hands the whole way. He'd trusted Victor, and he—he was just a killer.

***

“I'm really sorry,” Tony said when they stood next to Amara's door. 

She nodded. “It's not your fault, Tony.”

He hugged her, briefly. “Call me if something happens, okay? I'm still a superhero. Or should be.”

She huffed a laugh. “You are. But now you need to go.”

He handed her the mobile and left.

***

His house was empty when he got back, but he didn't really expect anything else. Now that he was looking for it, he saw Victor's things carelessly strewn around. 

For fuck's sake, he still had his clothes _on himself_.

Tony really wanted a drink, and then he kinda wanted to punch himself for thinking it. He wanted to talk to someone, but he didn't want to bother Rhodey with his problems anymore than he already had, and this one was just on him. He wanted to spar with Steve, spend energy to calm his mind, but Steve wasn't talking to him, and with good reasons. 

And they would all look at him with disgust when they learnt just _who_ Tony had been sharing his bed with.

Tony had killed, but it was never the first resort, it was never _unnecessary_. Victor—Doom—could've just stopped the bullets. He could've knocked the men out. He had the power. Not—not this.

Why had Tony believed he'd changed?

Why had Tony let himself love— _no_.

He locked himself in his workshop, tried to work on the armour. It was always a good distraction. Except this time he remembered how it'd all started, how Victor had helped him and asked him out on a date, and—

Tony hit the workbench, hard. 

Would he _never_ learn?

***

He had no idea how much time had passed when his Avengers card beeped loudly. He swore under his breath, reached for it. He was so tired. He hadn't done any useful work at all, just kept hitting at pieces of metal, hoping he could fix something by destroying it.

He was furious at himself.

He missed Victor. But Victor was all a lie, wasn't he?

He suited up almost automatically. He wasn't sure he'd have made it without Friday.

“Where are we going?” he asked on the comms when he was already in the air.

There was a pause before Sam replied. “Central Park.”

“Almost there,” Tony lied.

“Tony,” Sam said. “You okay? You always check before—”

“Do you really want to have that conversation now instead of containing—” And what was it they were fighting, actually?

 _Please let it not be Doombots_.

“The Absorbing Man, Tony. Maybe you should go home.”

Right, because no one needed him.

“I'm fine,” Tony snapped, and switched off his comms. 

He actually wanted to hit something. The Absorbing Man would do. _Especially_ him. Tony remembered Carl had turned good under the Skull's spell—and he'd gone back to his life of crime as soon as he could after that.

Tony still had nightmares of what he'd done when he'd been inverted.

Yes, he could definitely punch him. A lot. 

And he did just that.

When Tony finally noticed Sam stopping him, he let Carl go and took off without a word.

He flew aimlessly for hours.

***

The last person Tony expected to see at home was Steve, sitting at his dinner table with his cane close to him.

“What are you doing here?” Tony asked, not bothering with pleasantries. He was tired. He was irritated. He was sad.

“Sam called me,” Steve said. “Which more than anything told me it was serious.”

Tony looked away. “And?”

Steve sighed. “Tony. We were friends once. Contrary to what you believe, I don't hate you.”

“Then _what are you doing here?_ ” Tony didn't get it.

Steve shook his head. “I watched that fight,” he said. “That's not you. What's going on?”

Tony laughed almost hysterically. “Did Friday let you in?”

“You always give me your codes.” Steve shrugged. “I'm old, standing on your porch waiting for you just doesn't work for me anymore.”

Tony sighed, covered his eyes with his hand for a moment. “Do you want coffee?”

“No. And I don't think you need caffeine right now, either.” Steve's voice was like steel. “Can you just sit down?”

 _No_ , Tony thought. He couldn't. He had to do something, he couldn't think. But Steve wanted him to sit down and think, and well, Tony had never learnt how to tell him _no_. 

He sat down opposite Steve, propped his head on his hands. 

“I'm worried,” Steve said quietly, almost softly.

Tony looked straight at him. “After what I've done?”

“I'm worried,” Steve continued, as if he hadn't heard Tony, although his knuckles went white where he was holding his cane, “and I know you, Tony, and you won't annoy me into leaving.”

He could try. Maybe he should try. He knew Steve too, after all. He knew how to hurt him. How to make him punch him. That was . . . almost tempting, for a moment. Tony shook his head. He didn't want to do that, not really.

So he spoke. “You saw the fight?” he asked.

“I saw Sam holding you back,” Steve said. “Obviously, you must've let him, you were armoured up—but, Tony, what happened?”

Tony took in a deep breath. “And yesterday . . . Did you see anything about me yesterday?”

Who could he trust, if not Steve?

Steve nodded slowly. “You, and Amara—and Doom, I presume?”

“Yeah. Doom.” Tony looked down. 

“I know he's been bothering you, but it looked like he wanted to help,” Steve said. “By committing murder, but he is a villain, what else . . .” Steve trailed off. Tony refused to look at him, sure of what he'd see on his face.

“He did want to help,” Tony admitted at last. “And I suppose I would have too, if it was him being attacked.”

“Tony—”

“Look around you, Steve. His things are all over the place.”

Tony should gather them all and—burn them, maybe. Throw them out. Do something, so he'd stop being reminded of Victor whenever he looked.

“I trusted him,” Tony let out finally. He was aware his voice was shaking, but he didn't care. “I—I liked it with him. I thought—”

“You _dated_ Doom?” Steve asked, but he didn't sound angry, not even incredulous. If Tony had to guess, it was more like Steve was _hurt_. But that didn't make any sense.

“Victor was nice, and interesting, and helpful—he said he wanted to change, and, Steve, I know what that means better than anyone. He understood me—I should've known it wouldn't last, but—damn, Steve, I was so stupid.”He buried his face in his hands.

Steve stood up. Tony half-expected him to walk out, but instead Steve walked around the table to him, and, after a very long moment, he gathered Tony in his arms. “He's Doctor Doom,” Steve said, very quietly. “And you fell in love with him.” He sighed. “Nothing here is your fault.”

Tony let himself lean against Steve, and shiver in his arms. He'd loved Steve so deeply and steadily for years, nothing was going to change it, and so it was almost easy to hear him talk about Victor.

It was almost easy to admit that Steve was right.

It was impossible, and yet, Tony heard himself say “I did, I do,” and shake against Steve's chest.

***

At some point, he pushed Steve away and wiped at his eyes. He probably looked terrible, but he didn't care. Steve had seen him worse.

Come to think of it, Steve had seen him at his absolute worst.

“I think you should call him,” Steve said suddenly.

Tony stared at him. “Are you a Skrull now or—”

“ _Tony_ ,” Steve interrupted him. “I—I want you to be happy. And if you were happy with him, then so be it.”

Tony looked at Steve closely. “What are you not telling me, Steve?” he asked.

Steve smiled sadly and shook his head. “Nothing that matters anymore.” He sounded serious. “He was trying to protect you. He took the easiest way he saw. Talk to him. Just try.”

Tony nodded. He wasn't sure if he was going to do it—wasn't sure if it was a good idea—but he was grateful to Steve anyway. For coming, for caring, for trying to give him a piece of advice.

“Thanks,” he said quietly. 

Steve smiled, a little sadly. “And one more thing?” he asked.

Tony shrugged. “Yeah?”

“Take better care of yourself,” Steve said. “Don't go out to fight when you're like that. You have a good team. They can deal. And they can take care of you.”

Tony huffed a laugh. “How many years have you known me, Steve?”

“Fair enough,” Steve sighed. “But I had to try.”

***

Tony actually got a few hours of sleep that night, nothing close to the deep, undisturbed sleep when Victor was next to him, but he was going to take what he could. It's not like he'd slept well before Victor. He just had to get used to it again.

“Are you going to just hit things again?” Friday asked as he went towards his workshop.

Tony sighed. “Is that bad?”

She stared at him. “Do I need to answer that?”

“How's Amara?” he asked. He'd meant to do it sooner, except . . . Well. He knew who was taking up most of his thoughts and he didn't like it.

“She didn't call me, so she's fine, and don't change the subject,” Friday told him. “Get some water. Listen to Steve and call Victor.”

Tony obediently changed his direction to the kitchen, but now he stopped. “Since when do you call him Victor?”

“My primary job is taking care of you,” Friday said. “Call him.”

It was three AM, but Tony doubted it really mattered. Neither of them kept conventional hours. And who's to say Victor was even still in the United States? 

He was just looking for excuses, he knew it. And if his AI had teamed up with Steve on that, well. Tony knew he didn't stand a chance.

Of course, there was also this problem—they might've been right.

They might also have been _terribly_ wrong.

He sighed and picked up his phone. He had Victor's number saved, but he'd learnt it by heart pretty early on anyway, and now he dialled it, and waited.

He half expected it to go to the voice mail immediately or maybe to hear that the number no longer existed. That would be fitting, he thought.

Victor picked up after three signals, and Tony didn't know what to say.

“Stark,” Victor said, and it was like a slap. “Haven't you learnt that fraternisation with the enemy is bad?”

Tony bit on his lip. That hurt, but he was pretty sure it was only because Victor was also hurt. “Don't be like that,” Tony asked. “Victor. Please.”

“Doom doesn't know why you called, but if you can't—”

“I do trust you,” Tony cut in, desperately. “Or—I really want to, again. I definitely did.” He took a deep breath. Victor was silent. “Victor, can we just meet up somewhere? Talk? Face to face?”

“How positively medieval of you,” Victor said and Tony chuckled. “Do you have any other favourite diners? I don't wish to visit the last one again.”

Tony opened his mouth, closed it, and then sighed. “A few,” he admitted. The one he'd met up in with Steve, after the incursions had gone down . . . Not a lot of good memories there either, for sure, but at least he hadn't been there since then. No one should expect to see him there. “I'll send you the address.”

“Doom shall be there at 10,” Victor said, and then added, very quietly, “thank you,” before finishing the call.

Tony stared at his cell. He texted him the address almost automatically.

He was scared. Not of Victor turning against him, hurting him physically, no; Tony fought gods on a daily basis. He was scared that he'd really trust him again. That Steve and Amara were right. That they could fix it.

He also really, really hoped it was possible.

***

He took his suit this time; trust aside, he wasn't sure Amara had been the sole target last time, and he'd rather not make it easier on anyone. He hid it in his wristwatches after landing.

When he went in, Victor hadn't arrived yet, so Tony ordered two coffees and sat in one of the booths, warming his hands on his mug.

Victor appeared on the other side of the table moments later.

He tilted his head, pointed at Tony's watches. “Trust, Anthony?”

“You have your magic,” Tony pointed out. “And the armour is not against you anyway. I didn't particularly like being defenceless the last time.”

“I'd always protect you,” Victor said, surprisingly softly.

Tony looked at his coffee. “Yeah. I got that.” He looked back at Victor. “Did you mean it? About atoning?”

Victor shrugged. “I did, and I know your opinion. But you have to know I'll never be a hero. I don't _want_ to be a hero.”

Tony nodded. “I know,” he agreed, “but—look, why did you have to kill them?”

“Are you dense?” Victor sighed. “They were shooting at you. I'm quite fond of Amara too, but _you_? I couldn't let anything happen to you, and it was simply the fastest way to stop them.”

Tony swallowed. “Just that,” he made sure.

Victor just nodded.

Tony had killed, when it was necessary. Victor clearly thought it had been necessary that time. He was wrong, but . . . it was different, right, than just killing them for the sake of it? Maybe Victor could learn the difference? 

He wasn't sure, not really, he just wanted it to be so.

“Why not a shield?” he asked quietly.

“Shields are Rogers' speciality, if I recall,” Victor snapped. “I'm not him. Is that the issue here?”

Tony flinched. Steve had nothing to do with it. “No.”

He finally looked straight at Victor, really looked, not skimmed his eyes over him without seeing anything. He looked tired, pale. Possibly the worst Tony had remembered him seeing since he walked around without his mask. He was still very pretty. Tony still wanted to kiss him.

“I miss you,” Tony said quietly. If only that could've been enough.

“What did you think about me?” Victor asked curiously. “That I'll go torture people for fun while I'm at it?”

“Killing them wouldn't have been _my_ first thought,” Tony stated.

“Well. You are a superhero, despite all your claims to the contrary,” Victor said. He took a sip of his coffee. “Much as it pains me to admit it, I miss you too. So what are we going to do about it?”

“Try again?” Tony offered. 

“It—it was nice,” Victor admitted slowly. “I—okay.”

“Just like that?” Tony smiled.

“Would you like to offer a better solution?” Victor asked, looking at Tony through his long lashes. 

Tony shook his head. That was good. Very good.

It was just that he never got things as good in his life without a catch.

“One question,” Victor said, and Tony thought, _ah, the catch_ , except then Victor continued, “I assume Amara is okay?”

Tony smiled, relieved. “I left Friday with her.”

Victor nodded, evidently pleased. “Okay. Shall we go?”

“We can fly back,” Tony offered. He would never like teleportation. He stood up, left a few bills on the table. Victor followed him to the door.

“You do realise I can fly under my own power?” he asked.

Tony grinned. “Yes.”

He let the armour surround him when they were in the parking lot.

“I'll admit this is one of your better designs,” Victor said, watching him, his eyes dark.

“It's sexy, isn't it?” Tony grinned.

And then Friday yelled at him to duck even as Victor extended his hands, sending a wave of pure force behind Tony. A group of tech-ninjas were surrounding them. Tony groaned. “Again? Really, again?”

“Are you familiar with them?” Victor asked, throwing more of his magic around.

“Kinda?” Tony shot at two ninjas approaching them. “There _are_ people inside.”

He'd like to defeat those _without_ them committing suicide this time. 

He swirled around, fired at two ninjas more. There were a lot of them. He had to try and shut them down, soon. He hoped they hadn't updated their tech to make it impossible. 

Suddenly, the air around him shimmered, and he looked up in time to see a ninja's blade stop on a pure energy barrier around him.

Huh. So Victor actually listened to him? 

And then he heard a groan, and as he turned, he saw Victor getting stabbed with an identical blade. The ninja removed his sword, and Victor, very pale, collapsed to the ground, clutching at his stomach.

 _No_.

_Nononono._

Tony moved to him, firing at the ninjas around them—the shield moved with him, he noticed, and it was so stupid, it didn't matter, he was in his armour, for fuck's sake—he finally got to Victor and stood over him.

“Friday, handle the repulsors for a moment,” he said, and focused on coding fast enough to break through their—updated, but not by much—defences. They still operated in a network, he could bring them down all at once.

He didn't have time; Victor was bleeding, and— _the damn idiot_.

Tony swore, deleted the last few lines, typed them again. “Okay. Send that.”

The ninjas stopped mid-movement, electricity crackling over their suits, and then went down as one.

Tony didn't care. Victor was unconscious. Tony lifted him. “Don't you dare die,” he said. He had been stabbed in the stomach. There was a lot of blood. It didn't look good.

He had to survive.

Why hadn't he cast that shield on himself?! He wasn't wearing a suit of armour anymore.

“Friday, call the Avengers for clean-up,” Tony said, and started flying.

He needed to get Victor to a hospital, _fast_.

***

Victor was very pale against the hospital sheets. 

Tony didn't remember much of the way there, of getting him checked in, of waiting for the surgery, of anything.

He remembered he hadn't been quite that worried about anyone in _years_.

This shouldn't have happened, not with the two of them there; they were both more than capable of handling a few ninjas— _why hadn't Victor shielded himself_?

Tony supposed he'd keep asking himself that until Victor woke up.

He held his hand, gently, careful not to jostle him. He needed this point of contact to remind himself Victor wasn't dead. To erase that terrible moment when he saw a sword going right through him from his memory.

There was a time he'd wished Doom were dead. Look at him now.

***

“Tony?”

Tony looked up. Victor hadn't woken up yet. The doctors said he'd be all right, but . . . Tony had to see it first.

Steve was in the doorway, looking like he hesitated if he should come in.

“Yeah?” Tony asked.

Steve sighed. “I came to see how you're doing.”

“And tell me I'm off the team for falling for a villain?” Tony asked. “You can't tell me everyone's fine with _that_.” He gestured at himself and Victor.

Steve shook his head, tiredly. “Your team cares for you, and I'm not an Avenger now,” he said. “But _you_ are.”

“You're always an Avenger, Steve,” Tony said automatically, because it was one of the universal truths in his world.

Steve shrugged. “Not like this.” He gestured at his body, old now.

“Bullshit,” Tony said. “It was never about your fighting abilities, and you know it.”

Steve smiled. “I came here to check up on you, and you're reassuring me.”

Tony looked away. “You helped me.” He tightened his fingers around Victor's. “We—we should be fine. When he wakes up.”

Steve was nice and he wouldn't say _if_ , Tony knew that.

“Like I said—your team cares about you. They know where you are. They'll wait for you.”

The _I explained_ went unsaid.

Tony looked at him, surprised. “You didn't have to do that.”

Steve nodded sadly.

“Thanks.”

“Call me, or them, if you need anything. Try to actually go home.” Steve's voice was kind.

“Sure,” Tony said.

“Yeah, I thought so.” Steve hesitated. “I hope you'll be happy together.”

And then he left, before Tony could really answer.

Victor didn't move.

***

Amara sent him a text—“ _I'm sure he'll be fine; don't worry so much, call me later”_ —and he smiled, seeing it, but he couldn't not worry. He hated hospitals. He hated them when he was injured, and he hated them more when it was someone he cared about.

***

Victor woke up after three days, and he was still pale, but he smiled when Tony looked at him.

“You're alive,” he said, his voice raspy.

Tony wanted to shake him. “And I was armoured.”

“And I couldn't risk you dying,” Victor countered. “I thought that much was obvious.”

Tony wanted to say something, and couldn't.

He—he'd spent days here, trying not to think about a world without Victor, because it was simply unacceptable anymore. Because he loved him, damn it.

He never thought it might've been the same for Victor. In retrospect, maybe he should've. 

That didn't mean Victor should've cast that shield on Tony and not himself, though. 

Tony couldn't reply quite yet. He passed Victor a bottle of water instead, and helped him drink. 

Violet energy sparked around Victor's fingers. “Check me out, I'm fine.”

“ _Victor_.”

“I was unconscious for how long? My magic is replenished, I assure you.”

Tony knew better than to argue with him right now, but he knew he _would_ confine him to bed later.

***

Victor decided to prove just how all right he was by teleporting them to Tony's house. Tony groaned and held on to him for dear life.

But then they were alone, Friday's happy “welcome home, Victor!” aside, and he finally could kiss him.

He'd missed him so, so much.

Victor's lips were dry, but he was as responsive as ever, and Tony pulled him close and refused to let him go.

***

“Doom is quite fond of you,” Victor said later, when they were lying in bed together. “Try not to get yourself in dangerous situations again.”

“I'm quite fond of you too,” Tony said. “Try not to get yourself killed.”

“I suppose we'll both have to be more careful now,” Victor suggested.

“I suppose,” Tony agreed.

**Author's Note:**

> There's now a PWP coda here: [A Doomed Anniversary](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6137320).


End file.
